


I'll See You (In A Minute)

by Marvel_Me_To_Tears



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, AoU did Clintasha dirty, BAMF Natasha Romanov, But we love him for it, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Barton is a Little Shit, Clint Barton-centric, Don't copy to another site, Endgame Fix-It, F/M, Grief, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Natasha gets a funeral, Past Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, People actually mourn Natasha, Protective Clint Barton, Sacrifice, Sneaky Steve Rogers, So did Endgame, Some Fluff, Time Travel Fix-It, endgame spoilers, happy ending I promise, i changed my mind, it’s gonna make you happy (eventually)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-03-07 06:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18867847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvel_Me_To_Tears/pseuds/Marvel_Me_To_Tears
Summary: In a world where time travel remains an exciting f̶o̶r̶b̶i̶d̶d̶e̶n̶ new possibility, death is not quite as it seems. And, as Clint Barton learns, neither are relationships.ORClint brings Natasha back, but of course, it's never that easy.





	1. Please Don't Go

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, this is my first fanfiction, so I hope y'all enjoy! This story's filled with angst, so be sure to take care of yourself during and after reading.
> 
> Disclaimer: All rights and characters belong to Marvel Studios. No infringement intended.

Clint Barton has always hated empty comfort. Many years ago, he and Natasha had bonded over their shared distaste. But as time went by, they didn’t need false words or smiles. Every grin, every touch whispered, _I’ve got you._

 

_Let me go._

 

While staking out a target, Clint’s mind would often drift towards the master assassin, where she was, how she was doing. But the tune of _hunt, kill_ Ronin’s blood sung always overwhelmed any rational thought. He knew when he saw her again, if they met again, Natasha would be different. To be fair, so would he.

 

_It’s okay._

 

But somewhere along the line, Natasha had changed. While Clint was out there slaughtering scum, she had picked up the pieces and pushed through. Of course, there were cracks. But he never expected her to lie to him.

Because here, on a snowy cliff in Vormir, things were definitely _not_ ok. No, Natasha’s life was hanging by a literal thread. And the worst part was he knew she wouldn’t hesitate to let go.

 

_No._

 

_Please no._

 

_(Please don't make me do this)_

_(Please don’t go)_

 

_NO!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, I know, is suuuper short. But I'm just setting up the story, so expect much longer ones. If you're interested, please subscribe. Thank you!
> 
> I probably won't be updating in the next week or so (finals).  
> Have a nice day/night!


	2. She's Not Coming Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummm, hi. Change of plans. I am updating after all. Huh. Hope you guys don't mind that the real juice hasn't started yet. For now, Endgame feels.

Clint was shaking. Shaking as he stared at Natasha’s corpse. Shaking as he gazed at the Soul Stone. Shaking as he curled his body around the only piece of her left.

But when he arrived back home, Clint was still. Body and mind all uncomprehending. Empty. Sounds of victory reached his ears, stopping abruptly when they saw his lone figure.

“Clint, where’s Nat?” Bruce.

Clint tried futilely to answer, but her name stuck in his throat. Both prayer and curse, but for now only a choked breath.

As the silence drew on, Clint could see the understanding dawn. “No,” Bruce breathed, barely audible. Steve only ducked his head, eyes bright with tears. Ever the weary soldier. Tony’s face twisted with what only could be described as absolute _pain_. Right. Natalie. Natasha had told him about that mission, how close they’d grown.

Bruce sunk to his knees and, in a rare show of anger, punched the glass. BOOM! Then nothing but terrible, terrible quiet.

Clint stalked out, unable to bear the grief, the blame he could feel surely pointed at his back. He trudged his way across the grassy lawn, stopping at the lake. The sky was a muted gray, but the water shattered the reflection into a million pieces. Like his heart, broken beyond repair.

After God knows how long, he finally managed to speak.

“Natasha.”

Just her name triggered an onslaught of tears. Previously withheld by a barrier of shock, now free to wreak havoc. Clint just stood there, on the dreary dock, until a firm hand on his shoulder made him jump. The owner of said hand was Steve. He had an expression on his face that screamed an earnest “ _look, son”._  Clint looked around, processing the presence of others.

“Did she have any family?” questioned Tony, words ragged around the edges.

“Yeah, us,” shot Steve. He sat down, hunched over, and stared at the wooden boards, remembering.

 

 _I used to have nothing. And then I got this. This job. This_ family _._

_And I was...I was better because of it._

 

The rest of their conversation drifted out of Clint’s reach. Thor’s exclamation brought him harshly back.

“As long as we have the stones, Cap, we can bring her back. Isn’t that right?” The god was in Tony’s space, wielding his words like knives. Or perhaps, a shield. From reality. “So stop this shit. We’re the Avengers, get it together.”

Clint couldn’t deal with his stubborn optimism. “We can’t bring her back.” Thor whirled.

“What?”

“It can’t be undone. It can’t.” The half-whispered words tore at his throat. Thor just laughed, wheezing.

“I’m sorry, no offense. But you’re a very earthly being, okay?” He gestured wildly. “We’re talking about space magic. And ‘can’t’ seems very definitive, don’t you think?” The judgment brought Clint back, unbidden, to 2012, after Loki.

 

_This is monsters, and magic, and nothing we were ever trained for._

 

Natasha’s words. Natasha’s wisdom. That would never be again. Clint’s response took a couple of seconds to formulate. “Look, I know that I’m way outside my paygrade here. But she still isn’t here, is she?”

“Now, that’s my point.” A surge of anger rushed through the assassin at the glib response. His next words were more pointed, rougher.

“It can’t. Be undone.” Tears could be heard in his voice. “Or that’s at least what the great floating guy had to say. Maybe you wanna go talk to him, okay?”

“Go grab your hammer,” Clint shouted, “and you go fly and you talk to him!” Everyone was silent after his outburst, Thor now unable to meet his eyes. “It was supposed to be me.” He looked back at the lake. “She sacrificed her life for that goddamned stone. She bet her life on it!”

Bruce, standing apart from the others, hurled a bench into the water with a yell. When he turned back, the look in his eyes was hopeless, resigned. “She’s not coming back.” No one spoke. “We have to make it worth it. We have to,” he declared desperately.

Finally, Steve stood up.

“We will.”

Not hope, not uncertainty. Just fact.

 

“We will.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Also, shoutout to this amazing Marvel edit for making me sad. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sCRw7ZKPj5o&feature=push-fr&attr_tag=3jR5-O8mPy0_8iQh%3A6
> 
> Also, apparently tab doesn't work on ao3. Does anyone know anything abt that?
> 
> Please subscribe! Please kudo! Please take care of yourself!


	3. A Warrior's Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint gets hope for the future. Also, Natasha gets the funeral/mourning she deserves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ball is rolling! Also, there's an "easter egg" (maybe?) from the movies. I'll reveal at the end.

Tony’s funeral was private. His mourning was not. Ironman murals adorned the streets, candles and flowers littering the sidewalks. Children outlined his form in vibrant splashes of paint.

But Natasha, in life and death, had always been subtle. Her symbol was etched onto street corners and monuments, from the slums to the elite neighborhoods. Turned in assignments, more often than not, had an hourglass scrawled in the corner. Not to say there weren’t sprawling portrayals of her, glorious in battle. But people remembered the Black Widow in small ways, a tribute to the ordinary human who became so, so important. No special tech, no super strength. Just Natasha. And that had always been enough.

Her funeral, like her personality, was a quiet, but in no way small, affair. Clint was present, which was a given, right? What few knew was that Clint had contemplated not going. Not going to send off an absent body, to just be reminded of his loss. He had had enough fucking closure watching her fall. But Clint dragged himself out of bed, reminding himself that it was all for her. Wasn’t everything nowadays?

Now, standing in the wind, his guilt weighed heavy in his chest, as it had done since Natasha died. Everyone who had known the mischievous, playful woman was there. Carol, Rocket, and Nebula sat in one row, heads bowed. Steve was in a wheelchair ( _he would never get used to that particular sight)_ next to Sam, Bucky, and Bruce. Okoye mourned silently beside them.

Many, many more Natasha had invited herself, in her will. An odd array of people, but she had touched the hearts of all. Scanning the crowd, he recognized the owners of the shawarma joint. After the Battle of New York, the two of them had returned countless times, for memory’s sake. A reminder of a simpler time. Before Thanos, before the Accords-

Clint spotted Rhodey making his way through the throng. “I was just thinking of you,” he drawled by way of greeting.

“I’m flattered,” Rhodes quipped, then quickly sobered. There was a pause, then, “I have something for you.” His suddenly outstretched hand held a delicate silver chain. The sight of an arrow made Clint’s heart clench.

“She gave this to me, before our...before our time heist. Wanted you to have it, in case she…” Rhodey abruptly cut off and instead reached for Clint’s hand, dropping the token into an uncurled fist. “This was Natasha’s favorite necklace. She was always wearing this, even when she was running for her life.” The Colonel kept talking, but Clint stopped listening. Because he was suddenly staring at a Rhodey in a different time, in a different situation, speaking different words.

_“Get the stone and come right back … Watch each other’s sixes.”_

And then the throng of mourners was pressing in, and he could feel the biting snow on his face, the feeling of a small hand leaving his, and he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe-

A heavy hand _thumped_ on his shoulder. “Clint?!” Clint raised his head and met Rhodey’s eyes. The man sighed in relief. “Hey, buddy. Glad you’re back. Deep breaths, ok?”

Clint sucked in a lungful of air, and with each breath gathered a bit of composure. Eventually, all his emotions were compacted neatly in a ball and sealed off. But the heavy stone of guilt in his chest still weighed him down, blocking his airway, and he had to fight to murmur a broken, “I’m sorry.” (I’m sorry for failing you, I’m sorry for failing _her_ ). The unspoken words hung heavy between them.

        Rhodey inspected him with sad eyes. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

 

“Everything.”

 

* * *

 

The pyre was burning. The flames were licking Natasha’s favorite hoodie (stolen from him), her Widow’s Bites, and other treasured possessions. “A warrior’s funeral,” Thor had insisted. Clint had taken his word for it.

Maybe things were better this way, for the archer was sure he could never say goodbye to Natasha’s body. Fire was less personal. Except it wasn’t. Because the blaze was _alive_ and it was eating everything that made Natasha herself. A person whose work was her life, and whose work and personal lives were hopelessly intertwined. Both were burning, memories incinerating before his eyes. And with them, a part of Clint curled up and turned to ash.

It seemed the cluster of pain in his chest had loosened too. For, without warning, an explosion of anguish clouded his vision. Unstoppable waves of memories crashed over him, leaving him sputtering and coughing. Platonic cuddling, sweet kisses, tight embraces, all flashed before his eyes. Somehow, the happy flashbacks hurt _worse_ , because they reminded him of what he’d lost, what he’d never regain. Tasha.

Clint cried, silent tears running down his face. It was as therapeutic as it was painful, heart fit to burst yet burning white-hot all the same.  But as the blurred scene came slowly back into focus, Clint realized the steady pulsing wasn’t just his head ringing. He unclenched his fist, staring at a trail of blood dripping down his palm. The silver arrow had dug into his flesh, but the sting was so minuscule compared to the ache inside he hadn’t even noticed. Tenderly, he wiped his blood off the charm. It was far too sacred to be stained by his corruption.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Clint jumped, swearing when he caught sight of his companion.

“Steve,” he scolded, “you can’t just sneak up on people like that! How long have you been sitting there?” Steve said nothing, merely glancing around pointedly. The assassin followed his gaze, realizing emptily that the embers had died down by now, and everyone had gone.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Steve said again. Clint rolled his eyes.

“Did Rhodey tell on me?” he mocked.

“I know how you think.”

“You don’t understand,” Clint stood up abruptly from the crappy lawn chair, “I was right there and _I let her go._ ” He turned around to face the Captain. “I. Let. Her. Go.”

“Not without a fight.”

The archer ignored him. “I have everything to be sorry for.”

Steve sighed exasperatedly. “Do you blame me for Natasha’s death?”

“What?! No!” Clint cried in disbelief. “You weren’t even there.”

“Then don't hate yourself for losing a fight, for not preventing a decision that wasn’t yours to make.” The soldier reached over and squeezed Clint’s soldier. “Natasha was her own person. She made her own call. Don’t disrespect her by taking responsibility for her actions.”

“Easy for you to say,” the irate archer retorted, “the man who got another life. Not all of us get a time machine and a second chance.”

“But maybe all of us should.” The now elderly man stood up gingerly and walked away.

Looking down, Clint registered a few tubes of blood-red substance had been dropped in his lap. Pym Particles. He blinked. He blinked again. Then Clint chuckled with mirth, shaking his head.

“Steve, you sneaky son of a bitch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in Captain America: The Winter Soldier Nat wore an arrow necklace, which I think is absolutely adorable. Click on the link to see https://www.reddit.com/r/MovieDetails/comments/8nwbk6/in_captain_america_the_winter_soldier_2014_black/
> 
> Also, for the pyre thing, I took it from Viking burial traditions bc they believed in Norse mythology (Thor). It's very loosely based. https://www.history.com/news/how-did-the-vikings-honor-their-dead
> 
> Subscribe! Comment! And you'll make my day!


	4. Sunny With A Chance Of Time Travel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's kind of "plan" unfolds. And of course, spirals out of control. Because the words "Clint" and "plan" in the same sentence just don't coincide.

**_An hour before the “time heist”_ **

“Sunny with a chance of time travel,” Natasha hummed, strapping on Tony’s “GPS.” She carefully braided her hair, body thrumming with energy.

“What,” Clint’s voice piped up indignantly, “you have something against meatballs?” He lounged against the doorframe, flipping idly through a picture book. Natasha didn’t flinch. She had detected his footsteps approaching, hesitating in the hall. What kind of an assassin would she be otherwise?

“Nah, screwing with the past is just my favorite.” She turned from the mirror. “Don’t manhandle my stuff.”

“I can’t believe you still have it.” _Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs_ had been Clint’s gift to her. Something about a quest to “culture” her (including movie nights, library cards, and overall chaos). Natasha had shaken her head (raining food, _really?_ ) but kept it anyway. The children’s book now held a prized spot on her drawer. She walked over, plucked it neatly out of his hands, and paused, taking in his tense posture. “Everything will work out just fine.”

Clint made a noise of protest, but Natasha went on. “If it doesn’t, I’ll just kick its ass.” At this, the archer managed a semblance of a smile.

“Who’s ass are you referring to?”

She shrugged, a playful grin dancing on her lips. “Don’t know, don’t care. I’m not very picky about who I fight.”

But the joke seemed to have sapped Clint’s reserve of happiness. “What if you’re not there to fight the evil?” he whispered.

Natasha didn’t hesitate. “Then I trust you to win the war for me.”

Clint lowered his chin. “I’ll always fight for you,” he promised to the floor.

“I know.” She tilted his face upwards and met his eyes, a silent oath ringing between them. Then Clint leaned forward, gently bringing their lips together. It was a kiss of good luck, of farewell. A hint of desperation in the way they clung to each other. When they broke apart, the couple just stood there for a minute, forehead to forehead, taking each other in and gathering their nerves.

Then Natasha stiffened, pulling away. Before he could ask why, Clint felt the cold barrel of a gun jammed against his head. A hot breath brushed against his ear, bringing with it a dangerous promise.

“You’re not my Clint.”

 

**_One day ago, original timeline_ **

“Clint…”

“No, Sam, listen to me. We have time travel! No one should be dead, no one should be grieving.” Clint was pacing frustratedly across the room, hands waving wildly. “Look, Steve approves, even gave me the particles. We can do this. We can bring her _back_.”

Sam, sitting on the couch, said nothing, but his pity permeated the air between them. Somehow, his disbelief only fueled Clint’s desperation. “Look, it’s simple. We go back in time, to before the heist, and then just take that Natasha, with all memories intact.”

“Have you thought of the consequences?”

“Have you thought of the consequences?” the archer mocked. “Fuck the consequences!” He stepped forward, roughly shoving a finger into Sam’s face. Bucky, positioned silently in the corner, only twitched. But Clint knew the Winter Soldier wouldn’t hesitate to step in if he got closer.

Sam’s expression hardened. “Half the entire universe might _stay_ dead if Natasha doesn’t fall on Vormir. We can’t risk it, even if it’s not our timeline.”

“She would’ve done it for you,” Clint muttered petulantly. He couldn't resist a jab, what with all his wounds still smarting.

The tension in the room suddenly snapped. “You think I don’t care? Clint, Natasha was my _friend_. I went into battle with her by my side, and now she’s gone.” Sam’s eyes flashed in barely controlled anger. Then the light just flickered out. He sighed. “But we don’t trade lives, no matter how much we want to.”

Clint could feel tears welling up, and he angrily dashed them away. Stupid. Stupid. Every aspect of this situation was stupid.

Sam’s features softened. “Natasha would want it this way. Because if you carry through, people _will_ die.”

At that moment, Clint felt every drop of blood staining his hands.

“I know.”

 

**_One hour ago, original timeline_ **

_It always ends in a fight._

Bucky Barnes stood by his words. He had uttered them to Steve. Stubborn, earnest Steve. Now he spoke them to Sam, who had the same ideals. Hoping that Clint, for once in his life, would stand down. Unfortunately, Bucky had a nasty habit of being right.

Clint entered the Compound in broad daylight, as opposed to the cliche “dead of night.” It wasn’t a tactically sound decision, but he was long past caring. If he met opposition, good. He had some suppressed anger to release. After all, it never hurt to try.

Now he was regretting that decision, as he caught sight of Sam and Bucky guarding the time machine. The tension in the room was profound. It was the adrenaline before the fall, the courage it took to nudge the line. No one spoke.

“Clint, don’t do this.” Sam took a step forward.

Clint repealed his declaration from earlier. Trying _did_ hurt, like a punch to the face. Literally. He dodged Bucky’s next swing, sidestepping Sam’s attempt to sweep out his feet.

But five years of careless slaughter had made him lazy. Sam managed to pin him down, gasping, on the floor. “I can’t let you do this,” he panted.

A flash of silver. A red star emblazoned on the side. And then he was gone.

Bucky dipped his head, only sparing his downed teammate one steely glance. He had Sam in a loose chokehold.

_It always ends in a fight._

“Get her back.”

Clint nodded and ran towards the time machine. Sam, still rendered immobile, called after him. “We’re the Avengers! We were created to save the universe, not destroy it. Please, Clint.”

But Clint didn’t stop, only turning back once he reached the base of the platform. Face all harsh planes and sharp angles, features bathed in shadow. He gave a resigned, raspy laugh.

“You forget, I haven’t been a hero in a long, long time.”

Then he leaped, disappearing in a flash of light. One step closer to Natasha. Closer to his future. Or shall he say, his past.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs" thing is just some random part of my childhood that I weaved in. Don't ask why. So basically, some children's book where food falls from the sky. Yea.
> 
> Thank you to all that have reviewed, subscribed, and left kudos! You guys made my day! :)))


	5. Reunited, and It Feels So Good!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly as the chapter title implies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting for a while, but this is an extra long chapter to make up for it. I was going to post a teaser first, but then decided, why not the whole thing? This is a result of frenzied inspiration. 
> 
> Haha, I watched the HISHE (part one) for Endgame and they had the same idea as me. But they were wrong about it not having consequences. Wait and see, wait and see...
> 
> This is the chapter you've all been waiting for! (Or is it just me?) Reunions!

 

_\-----_

_“You’re not my Clint.”_

He raised an eyebrow. “What gave it away?”

Natasha’s eyes promised a slow death. “Clint would _never_ cheat on Laura.”

“Who the hell is Laura?”

\-----

Natasha rubbed her forehead, an impending headache already pounding at her brain. “Let me get this straight. You want me to believe you’re Clint Barton from the future.” Clint was already nodding, and made to speak but was interrupted by Natasha’s hand in his face. “No, I’m not finished.” She took a deep breath. “And in your ‘reality’ you don’t have a wife and kids?”

“Nope. I have you though.”

“Give me proof.” Her expression was hard, but Clint knew her well enough to detect a trace of smugness. She was expecting him to admit to his so-called “lies.” Well, she was in for a surprise.

Slowly, painfully aware of the gun still pressed against his skull, Clint pulled his necklace out from underneath his suit. Her necklace.

Mask cracking, Natasha did the same, revealing an identical one sitting on her chest.

Clint tilted his head in puzzlement. “If we’re not together, why did you kiss me back?”

Natasha laughed, a bitter sound. “Why am I wearing this necklace? Why did it take me so long to realize something was wrong?” She sighed.

“I’m in love with you, idiot.” She, finally, dropped the gun. Clint knew she had about a dozen other weapons on hands, but it was a start. “I’m fucking compromised.”

How should he phrase this… “Likewise.”

Natasha let out a startled laugh. A real one.

Yeah, things were gonna be just fine.

\-----

Clint didn’t normally hesitate. Hell, his day job was to infiltrate and kill, all without breaking a sweat. And he was the best of the best. (Don’t tell Natasha he said that.)

But this time, he paused before asking a crucial question. Natasha noticed, she always did. “Spit it out, Barton.”

Clint gave her an incredulous look, as if to say, “So I’m Clint to you when it suits you, but when you scold me I’m Barton?”

Her answering stare spoke of a resounding, “Damn right.” Clint glared back. After all, he was used to her mind games. He was a player too. An agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.

But eventually, Clint caved. He was no match for the famed Black Widow.

“Do you...” he mumbled, “do you want to come back with me?” At Natasha’s perfectly arched brow, he hurried to explain. “We won.” She inhaled sharply. “The Vanished were all brought back, everything went according to plan. Except...except,” Clint couldn’t force the words out. Time had not eased the ache.

“You died,” he said dully.

“Oh.” Natasha’s eyes were full of sadness and...pity?

“Oh indeed.” The archer laughed bitterly. “Everyone was devastated. So I, uh, I was sent here to bring you back alive.”

To a stranger, hell even to a friend, Natasha’s gaze would’ve been unreadable. But Clint had known her long enough to detect a hint of longing. Of indecision.

“Okay,” she finally agreed. Of course, it wasn’t as simple as that.

\-----

“Ready?”

Natasha answered his questions (both verbal and non) with a steely nod. She was facing this head-on, like any other challenge. And like any hurdle that dared stand in her way, it would be obliterated. Natasha took no prisoners. (And no bullshit.)

Clint took a deep breath as their masks fell into place. He grinned. “We’re going home!” Which was only partially a lie. After all, home was the woman standing resolutely by his side.

Her reply, said with the same playful smirk, made his heart clench painfully.

“See you in a minute.”

\-----

After hurtling through the fabric of time (aka hallucinations on crack), the time machine coughed them up on the other side. Clint just stood there, making sure Natasha was with him this time. That he hadn’t returned empty handed... _again_. He must have stared too long because Natasha gave him a weird look. But her gaze soon moved over his shoulder to the people sitting on the ground. Sam and Bucky were exactly where Clint left them. She took in the resurrected soldiers with wide eyes.

Natasha walked forward hesitantly, but Sam soon engulfed her in a giant bear hug.

“Oh my god.” He held her close, then pulled back to see her face. “Natasha,” his tone shifted sharply, “never pull that self-sacrificial shit ever again!” Natasha met Clint’s eyes over his shoulder, confusion evident. Thankfully, Wilson rambled on before she could ask.

“You’re not allowed to die, you hear me?” Sam had tears in his eyes, a fact he was not ashamed to admit. “You’re the only reasonably sane member of the team other than me,” he tilted his head sharply at Bucky, “and Dark and Broody over there.” She laughed wetly and clutched at Sam with an equal amount of wonder. Her hands were roving over his skin as if making sure it was solid, and very _not_ dusty.

“Sam?”

“Hmmn?” He answered as if in a trance, the shock of seeing supposedly “dead” family finally setting in.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not being there. I’m sorry you had to die alone.” Natasha’s eyes were also a bit glazed over, but she would deny it to her deathbed.

Sam, understandably outraged, started to list all the reasons why she had an unrealistic guilt complex while she looked on with a fond gaze.

“Sam?” she repeated.

He paused in the middle of his rant. “What?” he asked sharply.

“Shut up, you moron.” She pulled him close. “I missed you too.” Then they just stood there, two friends destined to never reunite. Home at last.

 

Natasha and Bucky exchanged a long, silent stare that Clint assumed, in emotionally-repressed-assassin speak, was almost as good as all the hugging and crying.

“Natalia.”

“James.”

Clint watched the charged exchange, unsure if he should be jealous. “Wilson, what did I just see?”

Sam discreetly wiped his eyes. “The Winter Soldier about to steal your girl.”

“That was sexual tension?!” Natasha aimed a kick at his shins. She hit her target, of course.

Clint whimpered. “Natasha, should I be worried?” He pestered her all the way down the hall. Despite his whining, or maybe because of it, they were all smiling.

\-----

The group eventually parted ways, with Clint and Natasha heading back to his room. It was still very spartan, a habit from years on the run. Clint walked in and awkwardly “welcomed” Natasha in. Even though, in this world, she was _very_ familiar with his place.

Natasha inspected the space with a critical eye before commenting, “Color.”

Clint, sitting on the bed, cocked his head.

“You need more color in here,” she clarified.

“You never had any problem with it before,” he grumbled. That was the wrong thing to say. Clint blushed, looking away. Natasha remained very purposefully stoic, but the corners of her lips twitched.

The cushion bounced as she sat next to him. “Anyway,” she continued, “tell me the whole story. On how we..how we _won_.” Natasha still uttered the word with awe and some modicum of disbelief.

Clint was going to tell her, honestly, but the words wouldn’t come. How could he tell her she had died saving him? That Tony was now nothing more than a painful memory? He couldn’t.

So they sat in uncomfortable silence until Natasha decided to rescue him. She was used to covering for his social fumbles on missions (he’s a sniper ok).

“So where’s Bruce?” He sighed in relief. _That_ he could do.

“Still recovering in the Medbay. Wielding the power of six stones is tough, he’s lucky to be alive.” Unlike...unlike… Clint forcibly rerouted his thoughts. “You should go visit, I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic to see you.”

Natasha hummed in agreement before getting up. She recognized a polite dismissal when she heard one.

“Wait,” Clint called after her. “Would you like to stay here tonight?” He swallowed. “With..with me?”

Natasha halted, but didn’t turn around. “Just to sleep,” he tacked on hastily. Her shoulders relaxed marginally and she turned to give him a small smile.

“Sure.”

Clint gave himself a mental pat on the back. Two yeses in a day. He was on a _roll_.

\-----

That night, Clint slept better than he had since the Snap, the warm presence by his side chasing away his demons. So when he woke up alone, he was seized by a moment of panic. Had it all been a dream?

The yellow Post-It on Natasha’s ( _Natasha’s_ ) pillow stopped his worries in their tracks.

**Going to make breakfast :)**

She really did know him very well. Clint let the tension bleed from his shoulders, before freezing again. Had Bruce told her of recent developments? Judging by how she had tiptoed calmly in last night, he hadn’t.

He threw off the covers and raced to the communal kitchen. There, Clint skidded to a halt, barely avoiding bumping into Natasha, who must’ve only awoken minutes before him.

She stood rooted a few steps from the kitchen doorway, staring with wide eyes at Steve. A completely different, very old Steve.

Shit.

Natasha whipped out a knife and strode across the room faster than he could blink. (Seriously where did she hide those?) Before Clint could even take a step, the weapon was pressed against Steve’s throat. Her survival instincts had kicked in, propelling her body even as her mind stuttered.

She blinked slowly, clearly just processing her actions. Then she looked back at Steve.

“What the fu-”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like the new, more lighthearted tone! A Clint with Natasha is a more joyful (and hilarious) Clint. Also, the scenes with Sam and Natasha could be interpreted as romantic, but I see them as the ultimate bromance. Bucky and Natasha were together sometime in the comics, so the jokes are a tribute to that. Remember, this is a Clintasha fic! Though you can see it as whatever you want.
> 
> P.S. Natasha probably would’ve recognized Steve, but she was half asleep and in a new environment. Give her some leeway. 
> 
> P.P.S Check out my other fic if you want Sad Steve feelz!
> 
> Thank you so much to MayaSerena, budapest_by_blimp, and AJRamsey for commenting and to all those who have pressed kudos/subscribed! It means a lot!


	6. Mid-Fic Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bonus scene I wrote for fun. Some fluff before the angst of the next chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! I hope you enjoy this guilty pleasure of a short scene. I just want them to be happy :')))
> 
> Also, you should probably review the last segment of the last chapter to remember what's going on. Bon Appetit! (haha what.)

Clint was still laughing, an hour later, as he recounted the tale to Sam, Bucky, and Bruce. They were all assembled on the living room couch. 

“And then she just held Cap hostage. In his own kitchen!”

“There was a stranger in our house,” Natasha defended. She was perched on the armrest, precariously balanced on the cushion. Showoff.

Bruce gave her a look. “A very old stranger.”

“How was I supposed to know it was Steve?!” Her patience with this conversation was rapidly running out.

Sam butted in. “We don’t care about that part. I think we’ve all wanted to stab Steve just out of pure frustration.” He looked at Bucky, who nodded sagely in agreement.

“He’s a stubborn little punk.” Bucky and Sam knew firsthand.

Clint interrupted before they could go off on a rant. “The point is, the first thing you did when you saw an elderly person, was hold them at knifepoint!” he gasped out, cracking up every few words. Everyone was chuckling, but clearly holding back in fear of Natasha’s wrath.

“What a good citizen,” applauded Bruce.

“Says you,” came Natasha’s muffled reply from behind her hands.

Bruce laughed, then his features morphed into sternness. “I’ll have you know Professor Hulk  _ helps  _ the elderly cross streets,” he said with exaggerated pompousness.

            Steve walked in amidst a cacophony of giggles. He was wearing another “old man outfit” (dubbed by everyone). 

             With the aid of his super sniper vision, Clint spotted him lounging awkwardly against the kitchen counter. “Look everyone, it’s the man of the hour!” he crowed.

             Sam smirked as he crossed the room. Thrusting an imaginary mike into Steve’s face, he questioned, “Is the senior citizen alright? No heart attacks out of sheer terror?”

             Steve smiled his trademark shit-eating grin. “I’ll have you know,  _ Sam,  _ that I can still beat you in a race.”

            “That’s Captain America to  _ you _ .”

            Among a chorus of oOohs and “burn!”s, Sam narrowed his eyes dangerously. “Also? You’re on.”

 

**Later**

“On your left!”

“Shut UP Steve!”

“On your right!”

“Bucky, you traitor.”

“Eyes up front Wilson,” Natasha jabbed, jogging backwards to his  _ face _ .

“Arghhh!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like a mid/end credit scene, except in the story, and it takes place during the events of the fic, but has no real influence on the plot...  
> Whatever.
> 
> P.S. I think it's a testament to how far Bruce has come that he can joke about the damage the Hulk has done before. 
> 
> Hoped you liked it!


	7. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He loves her, he loves her, he loves her. It's still not enough.

The first time Clint told Natasha he loved her was in Budapest. The city lights sparkled in her eyes and they leaned against each other, cocooned in the purple hues of the night sky. Natasha didn’t say it back, and he didn’t clarify what type of love, but neither of them really minded.

The second time, he formed the words around a mouthful of blood, bleeding out on the concrete. His eyes conveyed what he couldn’t say. Natasha pressed harder against the wound, tears running freely. “I know, you idiot, I know.” 

The last time Clint told Natasha he loved her, he mouthed the words against her forehead, trying to burn the feeling of her into his soul. She pulled back, eyes glazed with unshed tears, and murmured, “I love you too.” 

But their time ran out only minutes after, one life cut short in the swirling snow, the other damaged beyond repair. 

* * *

Natasha’s alive. She’s sitting right next to him, nose scrunched up in laughter, hands clutching her sides as her hair comes loose in wisps of red. Alive and well.

He knows that.

Then why hasn’t the grief gone away? He drinks in her familiar features and burns the sound of her laugh into his mind, yet still he wallows in a heavy sort of anguish. A type of resigned sorrow, accepting of the fact that he dooms all he loves.

But she’s right there. She’s Natasha. Even if they’re missing all the little quirks and milestones of their relationship, even if she still shies away from his touch, surprised. Even if there’s an imprint on the left side of his bed which hasn’t been filled.

No, Natasha’s sprawled broken at the bottom of a cliff--way back on Vormir, where his heart lies shattered.

* * *

Clint is, above all, an archer. He has hawk’s eyes and the patience of the hunt.

_Clint pulls back the string of his bow, savoring the tension strumming along his arm._

Whenever they’re in the same room together, Natasha hovers awkwardly, the ease of the first day gone. His Natasha ran, too, when she realized he cared. Still, it burns like acid to a wound.

_The target sharpens in his mind. Snap! An arrow is loosed, and a person falls._

Clint watches Natasha fiddle with the time machine, face pinched and body very still. Reluctantly, his brain comes to an unwelcome conclusion.

Natasha isn’t staying. 

Something snaps in his chest.

_Red._

_It’s everywhere._

_On the ground, staining his fingertips, leaking from the target in an inexorable rush of warmth. Clint watches her life bleed out apathetically. Her hair tints scarlet in the setting sun, green eyes dull and unseeing._

_Her hair tints scarlet…_

_Clint’s mouth drops open in horror. His throat goes dry._

_“Natasha?”_

* * *

“Hawkeye, Mrs. Potts is here to speak with you.”

Clint startles from his place on the couch, breathing heavily. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and the wetness from his cheeks. 

_God, what kind of a messed up nightmare was that?_

Now, Clint’s had nightmares before. He’s had plenty. Lots of which, he admits, revolve around Natasha dying. Maybe he’s too slow, or she steps in front of him, or sometimes a reason isn’t needed. His brain conjures up the images anyway. But this is a new low because never has she died by his hand.

Not in his dreams at least.

* * *

“Hawkeye, Mrs. Potts is here to speak with you,” Friday repeats, voice subdued. Clint jolts out of his reverie harshly. 

Friday hasn’t spoken a word since Tony died. 

As if on cue, the click of heels reverberates around the hall behind him. There’s no time to muse, not now. Clint plasters on a smile before turning around. “Pepper, what can I-” He cuts off as he takes in her red-rimmed eyes. Her tousled hair and askew jacket further accent her grief.

“What have you done?” Barely a whisper.

“Excuse me?” He eyes her as she delicately sits beside him. As if she might break. Clint knows the feeling all too well, the fragility that comes with losing a loved one. 

“Do you know how many people you’ve potentially murdered?” Her voice is filled with cold fury. Clint doesn’t have to ask; they all know what he’s done by bringing Natasha back. Not even his Natasha.

He looks away, unable to meet her gaze. “Billions?” he asks with forced lightness. Sometimes the best way to deal with consequences is to… not. This time though, it’s not in his hands.

“Trillions.” That silences him effectively, but Pepper continues on relentlessly. “They told me they built another time machine. You know what my first thought was?”

Clint sits in silence.

“Tony.” Pepper chokes on her tears. “Tony had a life, he had Morgan.” She slumps, whispering, “He had me.” _I had him._

Clint mouths an apology, but his throat won’t work.

You can’t be sorry for something you don’t regret.

_I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-_

“You could bring him back,” is what he ends up saying. Pepper turns burning eyes to him. 

“No,” she lashes out, “I can’t.” 

“I would be killing half the universe, or, at the very least, another person on that battlefield.” Her finger jabs at his chest as she towers over Clint. “ _That_ is what you don’t seem to understand.” She gets up and starts pacing. 

“You brought Natasha back, good for you. But if the time heist goes on without her and you go to Vormir alone, or with someone else, you’re not going to be able to get the stone. Then half the universe stays dead.” Pepper turns to face him. “It’s not our timeline, but it might as well be. Do you understand?”

Clint nods his head, shame making him curl into himself. _How could he be so selfish?_ The answer is simple, really. Clint loves Natasha. He would do anything for her. It’s not enough, though. Never enough.

Pepper must notice his remorse, as her voice softens. “You need to let her go. You know she’d want you to.” Clint wants to protest, but he knows all too well Natasha’s willingness to sacrifice herself.

Clint sighs and cradles his head in his hands. Pepper’s last words echo in his ears.

_“You need to let her go.”_

 

_Let me go._

 

_It’s okay._

 

* * *

 

Pepper leaves him to his thoughts, words still lingering in the air, cloying grief oppressive in its quantity.

Clint sits there, hunched, for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually, he lifts his head and croaks out, “How long have you been standing there?”

Natasha melts out of the shadows, expression unreadable. She’s holding herself deliberately as if she’s been hurt but doesn’t want anyone to know. Maybe she has.

“When were you going to tell me?” Her abrupt voice startles both of them, even if she doesn’t let it show.

“Tell you what?” Clint will feign ignorance until he dies. Which, judging the (lack of) expression on Natasha’s face, will be very soon.

“Stop lying to me, Clint. I thought we were over that.” Clint winces. That hurts, he admits. “Tell me that you’ve sacrificed the universe to save _me_ .” Somehow, the emphasis and disbelief on _me_ hurts even more. As if she cannot believe anyone would think her worth enough.

Clint swallows and works his throat. “Why is that so hard to believe?” he mumbles. This soft confession doesn’t belong in their brittle exchange of harsh words and burning revelations. But Clint is just so tired of fighting. Especially with Natasha.

Natasha hasn’t watched her world burn, though. Not like he has. So she plows on, “I’ve got enough red in my ledger, Clint. I don’t need any more.” She’s trembling now, mask cracking under a wave of raw emotion.

“You don’t have any more, Natasha. It’s all on me. I promise.” Clint raises a shaking hand to caress her cheek. Natasha almost doesn’t flinch away. Almost.

Clint makes a pained noise. 

“That’s not how it works,” Natasha says. She grabs onto the hand he tries to pull away. “And even if I could, I wouldn’t do that to you.” She sends him a watery smile.  

Clint revels in her touch, unprepared for her next bombshell.

“So send me back.”

He stiffens. “What?”

“If I need to die for the universe to live, I’m willing to do it.” There is resolve in her voice, steel-backed and proud. The last thing he heard before she died.

_What, you think I want to do it? (I don’t want to die.) I’m trying to save your life, you idiot. (It’s all for you.)_

Silence reigns. Clint could say a thousand words to fill it up, but they wouldn’t mean a thing. His response is crucial; he should think carefully.

But what he blurts out turns into, “So you’re just going to leave? I need you, Nat.” Clint knows it’s a low blow, but he can’t help himself. Desperation is welling up inside of him as he reaches the last weapons in his arsenal. 

Natasha goes very still. “And I _needed_ you five years ago. You’ve got no right-”

“You’re right, I don’t.” Realizing he abandons Natasha in yet another timeline cuts deep, but Clint can’t say he’s surprised. After all, he’s long accepted that fundamentally, he’s not a good person. Not like Natasha.

Natasha raises an eyebrow as he pauses, the only sign of her shock she’ll allow.

“Please.” _Stay._

She looks hesitant, almost as if she will, but in the same breath walks away, shoulders rigid with resolve. 

Clint curses himself for daring to hope.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!!! 🥳 🥳 🥳  
> Sorry for the (unintentional) hiatus everyone. I promise you I'll finish what I started. Hope you liked the chapter!


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